Tristan Evans
by DeadPerson
Summary: Well, this is my take on a HPxPJ kind of thing, where the Hogwarts founders were demi gods and that's how they got their magic, and educated other demi gods as centuries went on. Now, demi gods are extremely rare, but magic still exists  of course!


It wasn't the first time that Tristan Evans awoke with sweat dripping from her forehead.

Licking her lips quickly, clearing the beads of cold sweat from her upper lip, Tristan closed her eyes and tried to recall the last moments of her dream. She had done this for many years, and every detail she attempted to hold onto seemed to slip through her memory, like water trickling through cupped hands.

The location of her dream was the easy part. It was the Forbidden Forest. For some reason she was wielding a wand, even though she had not yet started her magical training at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the Forest resided. Underage magic aside, Tristan was walking a familiar path that she often beat with Rubeus Hagrid, her greatest (and biggest) friend.

Only this time Hagrid was not with her. Tristan was walking by herself and that was the first clue to the fact that it was a dream. The first rule of Tristan's life was that she was to never set foot in the Forbidden Forest without the strictest supervision, which meant the accompaniment of Hagrid or one of the staff.

Tristan continued to follow the path, which she knew led to one of the centaur's clearings. Centaurs are mystical beings that study the night sky in an attempt to make sense of the world; past, present and future. Tristan admired them a great deal, though the same could not be said for most of the herd. Only Chiron and Firenze seemed to enjoy the girl's company.

As she approached the clearing, a twig snapped behind her. Tristan froze, pricking up her senses and whipping her head around to discover the source of the noise. It was then that a dark figure emerged from the surrounding trees, driving Tristan closer to the clearing. Raising her wand, Tristan's cold breath swirled around in front of her face as she took each agonising breath. Had it always been that cold?

The figure began to approach, drawing something out of the left hand sleeve of his cloak. It was a thin piece of wood, which Tristan only assumed was to be a wand. Setting herself to attack mode, Tristan glared down the intruder and watched the wand arm carefully, should it rise any higher.

'Who are you?' she demanded in her clearest, most defiant voice she could muster.

The reply she received was a chuckle; a patronising laugh tempting the young girl to strike. It made Tristan's blood boil.

'Who are you?' she asked again, her anger rising with each syllable spoken.

The hooded figure was no more than ten metres away now, and he made to unearth his hood.

'Ask the man you call grandfather,' he replied in a sharp tone, and without a moment's hesitation, unveiled himself, and then everything went green, and Tristan was awake once more.

She opened her eyes again. It was the last moments that she struggled to remember. The stranger's face for one thing, and the source of the green light was bothering Tristan greatly. She was only eleven years old, but she knew when things weren't right in the magical world, and that was one of those times.

Suddenly, a thought occurred. She was eleven years old. Today was her eleventh birthday, which meant that tomorrow would be the first of September – the first day of term at Hogwarts that year. And Tristan would be starting.

Hardly contained by her excitement, Tristan fell out of her bed and onto the cold, stone floor at the top of the Headmaster's office. For that was where Tristan had resided for her entire life, and it was there that she would remain until she was of age. Her grandfather, Albus Dumbledore, was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and had raised Tristan from a small baby.

Getting up from the floor, Tristan quickly dressed into something appropriate for breakfast (or there would be hell to pay from Professor McGonagall), and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her dark brown eyes told a different story than the rest of her body; her eyes made her look older than her eleven years. Her auburn brown hair strung this way and that, and her set jaw gave her a look of authority.

Satisfied with the way she looked (baseball cap and all), Tristan headed down the stairs and straight for the Great Hall, where her arrival was anticipated by the staff of Hogwarts. They all knew that this day was important, and they knew that Tristan would be just as excited for the following day as she was today. It was a big thing, starting school.

Not that Tristan didn't know any magic. Alistair Moody, or "Mad-Eye", had been giving her Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons since she was seven years old. And Tristan relished in every lesson because she knew what terrible times the world was going through. Tristan was a victim, like many others, of the First Wizarding War.

She had demanded, for four years now, to see the obituary section of the Daily Prophet to see how many the Dark Lord had killed that week. Every time she read that section (which seemed to grow bigger and bigger), anger pierced her heart, as well as desperation. Tristan felt it her duty to do something about the kills that Lord Voldemort was committing, along with his Death Eaters.

For that was the Dark Lord's name. As Tristan trudged down the aisle in the Great Hall, his face leered at her from the front page of the Prophet. He was albino white, with dark pits surrounded by red for eyes, and jet black hair. When she glimpsed his face, Tristan had the strong urge to beat him to a pulp with her bare hands.

McGonagall noticed that as Tristan sat down she was eyeing the new Daily Prophet in front of Dumbledore's plate. Tristan had a creased brow, as she always did when she saw the Daily Prophet. McGonagall snatched the paper away before Tristan could grab it for her morning ritual.

'Not today, Tristan. You can't be angry or resentful today,' McGonagall explained calmly when Tristan looked reproachful. McGonagall looked directly into Tristan's eyes for one fleeting second, and fear stabbed at her heart, before she looked away again.

'Fine,' Tristan snapped, occupying herself with her scrambled eggs and bacon. Oh, she loved the house elves.

'Where's Snape?' Tristan asked between mouthfuls, noticing that her usual mealtime companion to the left was missing.

'_Professor _Snape, Tristan. He's attending to something,' Dumbledore answered, his eyes not wavering from the spot he'd been staring at since Tristan walked in.

Tristan rolled her eyes at her grandfather's emphasis on the word Professor, and continued to eat. Suddenly, she felt the penetration of her grandfather's piercing blue eyes on her, and she furrowed her brow a bit more.

'Is something bothering you Tristan?' he asked calmly, almost as if he were asking for the time. Tristan slowly chewed her food and swallowed it roughly, suppressing the truth within her. She had known about a branch of magic called Occlumency for some time now, and had attempted to employ it whenever her grandfather or Snape tried to break into her mind for an answer. Tristan concentrated very hard before giving her answer.

'No grandfather. I just didn't sleep too well last night,' Tristan said innocently, looking into her grandfather's eyes as she answered to offer emphasis. Dumbledore raised his head slightly, looked directly into Tristan's eyes, and smiled. She was employing Occlumency well. Dumbledore decided to settle the matter for now, as their old friend Moody was to be joining the party momentarily.

'Well, happy birthday Tristan,' Dumbledore stated once Tristan had finished her meal. The young girl looked to her grandfather and smirked a little, looking around at all of the other teachers.

'And here was me thinking you'd forgotten. Are you excited about today, or tomorrow?' Tristan asked, putting extra emphasis on 'tomorrow'. The other teachers shared a chuckle and went back to their breakfast with small smiles on their faces. Of course they were anticipating tomorrow. That was the day that their charge would legally be learning magic.

'Of course, we've been anticipating both days since the day you were born. And take that hat off!' Professor McGonagall growled, staring point blank at Tristan's criminal piece of clothing. Tristan smiled a little, the side of her mouth twitching.

'But it makes me so good looking! More so than usual anyway,' Tristan stated. McGonagall pierced the girl with a stern look until Tristan decided it best to remove the ornament from her head. It was probably a wise decision.

'Alastair will be with you in a moment to accompany you to Diagon Alley. I trust you will not misbehave in his charge?' Dumbledore said sternly, raising an eyebrow at the young girl. Tristan looked taken back.

'But I thought Snape was taking me?' Tristan asked, sounding disappointed. She didn't mind Snape really, even though he made it his complete mission to make every waking moment of her life a misery.

'_Professor _Snape is busy, as I said before. Anyway, I thought it would be a good opportunity for you and Alastair to catch up. It's been several weeks since your last lesson,' Dumbledore explained.

Tristan groaned. 'Yeah, and watch him attack bins and Muggles and anything else that moves funnily,' she said begrudgingly.

'I'll be attacking you in a minute if you don't pipe down the attitude, young miss,' said a clear, Irish voice. Tristan jumped as she watched Moody walk down the middle of the hall (the House tables had not yet been set up) and approach the head table.

'Ah, Alastair. Are you ready to escort this charming young lady to Diagon Alley?' Dumbledore asked, a twinkle evident in his piercing blue eyes. Moody grunted.

'As long as she doesn't say much, I'm good,' Moody growled, watching Tristan's eyes. Tristan didn't like it when people looked in her eyes, and it happened often.

Dumbledore smiled, and watched Tristan remove herself from her seat, walk around the table (because she would have ended flat on her butt if she jumped over the table). Moody grabbed her roughly by the scruff of the neck, thrust her in front of him, and off they trudged to Hogsmeade, then on to Diagon Alley.


End file.
